


make new friends but keep the old

by lallybyrne



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Notfic, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 04:47:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13264008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lallybyrne/pseuds/lallybyrne
Summary: a true notfic where i wrote some of a fic about stiles being depressed and derek dealing with it but then got too depressed to flesh it out #meta #secretlymybestwork #hardyikes but also stiles thinks this way about his illness because he is ill, depression is serious and real and no one should have to feel that way and please please please reach out if you need help, the world would be so much worse without you





	make new friends but keep the old

Beacon Hills was a lot less terrifying now that they were all in their 20s and had semi-respectable adult lives. Stiles couldn’t tell if it was calmer because they were calmer, or because they’d lived through a once-in-a-lifetime horror show, or because Deaton had found a way to turn off the Nemeton and neglected to let them know before he retired to Oregon to live in the woods and commune with nature, but he didn’t really care. The important thing was that, aside from standard diplomacy with packs in the area and the occasional fairy infestation, the supernatural was leaving them pretty much alone. 

After finishing his English degree at Berkeley, Stiles had come back to Beacon Hills. The long-term plan was to write and edit for whatever publications would take him while he worked on a novel, and he could do that from anywhere. The pack was still in BH, and Stiles had somewhere to live rent-free while he got on his feet, and he didn’t want to be too far from his dad. Once he settled in, the emissary training just sort of...happened.

Hanging around deaton’s office to chill with scott 

What are those weird herbs?

O rite i’m a spark

Ancient pack traditions and customs that got lost in the shitshow can be rekindled now that everything is less insanely dramatic 

Emissary is there to protect pack, uses magic mostly prosaically to keep everyone low level safe but also can be a bamf when needed

Deaton’s “don’t upset the balance” is a personal mantra more than an emissary rule, and Stiles throws it aside almost immediately - do whatever it takes to protect the people he loves 

Didn’t realize how great it would be, pack is strong and happy, everyone is being a grown up, he starts being an emissary/training with Deaton and then Morell? Melissa and his dad are in love 

they get married, move into the mccall house, offer him a place but he’s a grown man damnit! 

Derek rents out apartments in the loft building, everyone but Scott and Allison live there, they live in a house close by, but closer to the clinic. - maybe they’re in the McCall house and Sheriff and Melissa stay in Stilinski house, kick stiles out (stiles leaves bc newlyweds?)

derek is the pack landlord - one non-pack resident for the lols? Liam as the newbie for the lols? or all pack bc that’s way more practical, makes more sense for the werewolfy additions to the building like soundproofish walls and sturdiness in general - ROOF GARDEN FOR MAGICKY THINGS FOR EMISSARY STILES??!?!?!?!?!?! heck yes. 

mention here that Derek and Stiles start dating because duh they’re in love? How long should they have been dating before this all happens. Four months? Long enough that it’s serious, but short enough that it’s not a done deal. 

When Stiles moved into the apartment he spent more time on the bedroom than on anything else. He cracked jokes to his friends about the magic happening there, but he knew in the back of his mind that he’d be spending a lot of time there. If the pattern of his depressive episodes stayed like it had been for most of his life, there’d be spells every few months where he’d be spending days at a time almost entirely in his bedroom. He wanted to make sure there was art on the walls, and space for everything he’d need, and most importantly that his bed would be comfortable. 

His therapist told him it was probably counterproductive to turn his bed into as much of a nest as he did. Creating a cocoon for himself wasn’t exactly conducive to overcoming his episodes and going out into the world. Stiles thought his therapist was an idiot. He’d been going to doctors for years, and no matter how good the good times were he knew that he had to be prepared for some bad times too. They were fewer and farther between than they used to be, and he always recovered after a few days, but he had yet to find anything that stopped the darkness from creeping in. omg this is the most overdramatic purple nonsense anyone has ever written get it together ya dummy. 

 

He’d always been an odd kid, but he didn’t realize that a lot of his childhood could be explained by depression until years later. It had started before his mom was sick, had gotten worse while she was in the hospital, had peaked after she had died screaming at him. He didn’t want to burden his father any more than necessary afterwards, so he tried to work through it himself. He pushed down the weird thoughts, lied to his dad whenever he was sad, and powered through with a combination of adderall and sheer force of will.

He made it relatively unscathed until sophomore year of high school, mid-October. Parent teacher conferences were always a crapshoot for him - his grades were great, almost perfect, but his behavior was a “cause for concern.” He was the class clown, he couldn’t stay on topic, he talked back, and some teachers couldn’t deal with him. Harris was always especially irritated, and the whole evening Stiles was anxious for their discussion with him. It didn’t help that he was the last conference of the night. 

“Hello, Sheriff. I hope Stiles has made it clear to you how this talk is going to go.”

“Good evening, Mr. Harris. I’m not quite sure what you mean by that, Stiles hasn’t mentioned any particular problems in your class.”

Stiles shrunk into the uncomfortable plastic seat as Harris smirked.

“He hasn’t. That’s very interesting. He certainly won’t be surprised to hear me say that he is by far the worst student in my class, and I’m sorry you have to be. Other teachers seem to be more lenient on your son because of what happened to your wife, and I am sorry for your loss, but I have never believed in cutting corners when it comes to education. I’m sorry to be so blunt, Sheriff, and I want you to know how much I respect everything you do for this town. That’s why it’s particularly disappointing that your son is such a lackluster student. He is disrespectful, disobedient, and not nearly as smart as he thinks he is. At this point in the semester he’ll be lucky to leave my class with a C, and that would require a major change in both attitude and work ethic that I’m not certain he is capable of pulling off.”

Stiles tuned out. He felt himself start scratching at his arm, and heard his dad responding to Harris, and he couldn’t make himself focus on the conversation about how terrible he was. 

The ride home was dead silent. John didn’t seem mad, but he also didn’t seem particularly surprised. He looked disappointed. His dad had finally realized that Stiles wasn’t worth it. He was a burden, and his dad didn’t know how to interact with him now that the secret was out in the open. They got home, and John immediately poured himself a drink and went to sit at the dining room table. Stiles went up to his room, not having said a word for at least an hour - probably a record.

His mom had died five years ago, but there were some things that they couldn’t bear to get rid of. John had saved a couple of dresses, a few pieces of jewelry, and her books. Stiles had saved the pills. Some of his clearest memories of his mother were in her last lucid days at home, helping her organize her medicine for the week. He’d snuck into the bathroom after her funeral and hidden her bottles under a floorboard in his closet with her favorite quilt.

He went and pulled out her things, still pretending like he wasn’t going to cry. He sat on his bed, wrapped in the blanket, and stared at the pills. For the hundredth time he googled the names of the prescriptions. There were a couple of antidepressants, and then once those had stopped working a few tries of antipsychotics. The most recently dated prescription, and the fullest bottle, was a seizure medication that the doctors had thought might help some of her worst symptoms towards the end. 

He opened a private window, and started googling. “Tegretol overdose,” “tegretol treatment,” “tegretol generic name,” “carbamazepine,” “carbamazepine overdose,” “carbamazepine suicide.” He’d looked up these things a hundred times before. This time, however, he couldn’t stop Harris’s words echoing around in his head. Once his dad realized he wasn’t as smart as everyone seemed to think, what did he have going for him? 

He knew he wasn’t a good kid. He knew that he stressed his dad out and made life harder for him. He only had one real, close friend, and Scott would be fine without him. Scott probably was only friends with him because he got stuck with him after his mom died - it’s hard to phase someone out after something like that, and Scott’s always been too nice for his own good. He was trying out for lacrosse this year, and has always been better at fitting in than Stiles anyway. His dad would be better off without him, and Scott probably would be too - if not at first, well, it’s not like life would be harder for him in the long run without Stiles dragging him down.

He took one pill, just to see how it went down.

He was swallowing the pill with a glass of water when he heard his dad coming up the stairs. He paused outside Stiles’s room, then kept walking and closed his bedroom door. Stiles felt a tear roll down his face (or something more illustrative and less bad, wevs). He knew he was doing the right thing, but in the back of his mind he had hoped his dad would stop and say something - that it was ok, that he didn’t believe Harris, even just a goodnight. Now that he was in bed, Stiles was faced with the reality that if he decided to do this no one was going to stop him. He grabbed his phone, put in his headphones, and started playing music (turned on X sad artist? What if you were a sad teen? LOL I STILL AM A SAD TEEN. elliot smith? The smiths? Las cabras montanas? Brand new? Frightened rabbit is too hopeful i guess? Aimee mann? Rilo kiley? The weepies? That’s too on the nose.). The internet said that he had more than enough medication to exceed the fatal dose, and that the mortality rate was much higher for people who had been drinking when they took the pills. 

Stiles opened a new word document on his computer. He stared at it for a few minutes, crying and trying to figure out what to say. (on one hand i’m making this too dramatic, on the other hand is there anything more dramatic than a suicide attempt when one is 15?)

“I’m sorry. I know this is cowardly and terrible of me. You really will be better off without me, I know that for a fact. I can’t do this anymore. I really am sorry.” (haaaaa is that an exact copy?)

He took a deep breath and poured out a handful of pills. He swallowed them, three or four at a time, counting them out until he had taken 20. He was already starting to feel lightheaded, and he very carefully walked down the stairs to the dining room. His dad’s glass was still on the table, and he pulled out the whiskey and filled it to the brim. He sat down heavily at the table, shook out a few more pills, and started to drink.

He woke up to headphones being ripped out of his ears and the sound of yelling. 

“What are you doing, Stiles? What did you do?”

He rolled his head to see his dad standing over him, pale and shaking, holding the pill bottle.

“Huh?”

“Stiles. I need you to tell me right now. Did you take any of these pills, or was it just the whiskey?”

Stiles knew distantly that his dad’s cop voice was never a good sign, but he couldn’t quite put together what the question was. All of the sudden he was being hoisted up by the armpits and dragged out of the dining room.

“Yes. Shannon. I need an ambulance at my house right now. I’m...it’s Stiles. He’s sick. Yes I’m sure. Whoever can get here fastest, as soon as fucking possible, ok? I’ll unlock the door, tell them to come in.”

They stumbled into the bathroom and John let Stiles sink to the floor. 

“I don’t know what happened, but I need you to throw up right now, ok Stiles?”

“It’s ok, Dad, don’t cry. It’s fine, it’ll be fine.” Stiles tried to comfort his dad, but he could hear the words coming out not quite right. He straightened up to try again, and slumped back over the toilet. John knelt down next to him and started rubbing his back.

“This is going to hurt, I’m so sorry, but I have to. OK? You ready?”

Stiles looked up, and John grabbed his face with his free hand, and moved his other hand off of Stiles’s back. Before he could figure out what was happening, his dad stuck a finger in his mouth and pushed all the way back into his throat. Stiles started gagging, and John shifted him so he was facing the toilet just before he started to puke. He started rubbing his back again, and once Stiles started throwing up he felt like he couldn’t stop.

“Stay right here for one second, I have to unlock the door, I’ll be right back.”

He heard running footsteps in between his heaves, and everything started getting hazy. He felt a cool hand against his forehead, and passed out.

The first thing Stiles noticed when he woke up was the smell. He hadn’t been in a hospital since his mom was sick, but he immediately recognized where he was. He put off opening his eyes for as long as possible.

“He’s been asleep for almost 24 hours, there must be something more you could be doing for him.” His dad sounded exhausted, and he barely suppressed a flinch.

“John, I’m so sorry. He’s doing better than he looks - his vitals are good, the charcoal is doing its job, and rest is the best thing for him right now. He’ll wake up soon, I promise.”

Stiles recognized Melissa’s voice, and his stomach dropped. Images started to filter in, and he realized what must have happened. His dad found him downstairs, and took him here, and he couldn’t even do this last thing right. He was a useless fuck-up, as per usual, but now everyone knew about it. He immediately started cycling through excuses, trying to come up with some other reason for the drugs in his system, trying to figure out a way to play this off so no one would realize how broken he was. He didn’t hear how the heartbeat monitor had sped up until someone was grabbing his hand.

“Stiles? Are you awake? Son, please -” He couldn’t help but open his eyes.

“Dad -”

“Stiles!” He was jostled as John slipped around various wires to pull him into a half-hug.

“Dad, I’m fine. I’m totally fine, and it totally wasn’t what it looked like, not that it looked like anything, I was just...drinking. Underage drinking, you know how teenagers are, and it got out of hand, and I’m fully comfortable with however long you want to ground me -” Stiles could tell he was speaking more slowly than he was trying to, and he felt his dad drop him back onto the bed and step back.

“You were - what are you - Stiles, you had enough of those pills in your system to - if they hadn’t been five years expired you could’ve - damnit, you would have -” John looked furious, and Stiles flinched back.

“This is a total misunderstanding, please don’t -”

“STILES. Stop it. Just stop. You could have died. You almost died.” John’s voice cracked, and Stiles looked away so he didn’t have to see his dad start crying.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“I just don’t understand why? That Harris guy was an asshole, I know, but I didn’t realize...you’re getting amazing grades in every other class, you know how smart you are, right?”

Stiles started crying.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I fucked this up. Harris was right, dad. I’m sure the teachers just felt bad for me - I’m a fuck-up. Everyone’s lives would be so much easier without me. Everyone at school other than Scott barely tolerates me, and he’d be way more popular if I weren’t around to drag him down, and you’d - you could work less, and I know how stressful it is that I cause so much trouble at school, and I just - you’d be better off.”

His dad looked furious, and he flinched back, fully expecting to get yelled at like he deserved for being so dramatic and ridiculous.

“Don’t you ever say that to me again. My life would be worse in every way imaginable if you weren’t here. Scott loves you like a brother, he’d be devastated too, but I couldn’t...I couldn’t go on without you, Stiles. We’re all we have any more, and I would be ruined if you died. Absolutely ruined.” They were both crying in earnest now, and Melissa’s soft knock startled them more than it should have.

“I’m so sorry, but now that Stiles is awake we have to take some more blood to make sure the medicine is all working like it should. After that we’re going to bring in a psychiatrist, so Stiles will be busy for the next couple of hours. You should go home and change, John.” Stiles realized his dad was still in the pajamas he’d been wearing that night.

“It’s fine, dad. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be back as soon as Melissa texts me that I can come back. I love you, kid. I love you a lot, and when I come back we’re going to figure out how to make sure you don’t have to feel like this anymore, ok?”

::deleted scene where the sheriff finds the note::

Stiles felt his eyes fill up even as he tried to smile, and he didn’t blame his dad at all for his slight wince before he left the room. Melissa rested a hand on his shoulder briefly and he smiled at her before he walked out.

“Stiles, I have to talk to you about something.” She looked nervous, and Stiles’s stomach dropped to the floor. He’d somehow injured himself permanently, and now his dad was going to have to pay for some expensive surgery, and yet again he’d made a mistake that just made things way harder for everyone around him, and when would he learn not to be such a -

“You’ve been here for over a day now. It’s Thursday morning. I stayed to make sure your dad wasn’t alone, and I had to call Scott to tell him I wasn’t going to be home.”

“Thanks for staying with him, Mel, I’m so sorry -”

“Wait. I told Scott that I was staying here with a sensitive patient, and he came to bring me dinner last night. He saw your dad in the hallway, looking like he did, and realized that it was you in here.”

“Oh.”

“I’m so sorry. I know this is hard enough. He doesn’t know what happened, and no one is going to tell him. But he’s probably going to come back after school to check on you and see if you’re awake. He’s really worried about you. And I know if you wanted to tell him you could trust him with this. He wants you to be happy and healthy. We all do.”

“Thank you.” Stiles mumbled. He couldn’t tell Scott. This was fucking humiliating. He couldn’t even kill himself right. Scott would probably think he’d just faked it for attention anyway. 

“OK. Now, I unfortunately wasn’t kidding about having to draw blood now that you’re up. You already have an IV in, so I don’t have to jab you. It's still a needle though, so you might want to look away anyway, just in case.” Stiles knew, distantly, that he should find this all gross, but he stared at Melissa’s hands the whole time she was filling the tube with blood and didn’t feel much of anything. 

 

Melissa finished taking blood, looked up at his face, and stopped. She stared at him for a minute, and before he could think of what to say to try to get that look off of her face, she sat in the chair next to his bed and took his hand. He tensed up, waiting for her to say something, and she just sat. After a few minutes, he relaxed back into the uncomfortable bed. He hadn’t bothered to look at the clock, but it felt like at least half an hour before they were both startled by a knock at the door. Stiles noticed Melissa swiping at her face as she stood up to open the door, and didn’t know what to say.

“Stiles, this is Dr. Lee. He’s the hospital psychiatrist, and he’s also a friend. You can trust him, I promise, and if you need anything just hit the call button and I can be back right away.” She kissed him on the forehead and hurried out the door.

“Don’t try anything, Dr. Lee, Melissa is at my beck and call apparently.”

Dr. Lee smiled at the joke, and sat in the chair Melissa had just abandoned.

“Hello, Stiles. I assume Stiles is what I should call you - I could try to pronounce this” he held up a chart “but I think I’d just embarrass us both.”

“Stiles is fine. Honestly, my dad can barely pronounce the real name, I’ve tried to convince him that I should legally change it, but apparently the ghost of my mom’s grandfather would haunt me for life, and I have enough going on without literal ghosts, you know?” 

“It’s nice to have a connection to your heritage. So, Stiles, you know why I’m here. We need to talk about what happened, but more importantly we need to talk about what happens next.”

Stiles tensed. How long could they keep him in the hospital? Were they going to put him in some sort of institution? If he missed more than a few days of school everyone would talk, and Harris would take even more points off of his grade for the absence, and his dad would have to pay for the extra time in the hospital, and - he felt a hand rest gently on his shoulder.

“Stiles. It’s fine. Everything will be fine. What’s got you so anxious?”

Stiles felt himself start laughing before he could stop it.

“What’s got me so anxious? Doc, come on. I’m a disaster. I fucked up my whole life before my 16th birthday, and then I couldn’t even kill myself right. Now I’m costing my dad all this money for a hospital stay, and the McCall’s all this stress, and it’s so fucking dramatic and ridiculous and embarrassing. Sorry, I shouldn’t swear. I just - life has got me so anxious.”

***when they find laura he’ll have to be driving on just his learner’s permit

“I guarantee your dad isn’t worried about the hospital bill.”

“Doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be.”

“Should it be your job to worry about that, though? You’re sick, you need medical care, and you’re getting it. I think, for you, this suicide attempt” Stiles flinched “was a symptom of underlying depression, and I want to talk to you today about treating that problem.”

“Look, I messed up, but I’ll be fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal, Stiles. Your health is important. Your dad spoke with Nurse McCall about treatment options and agreed on a path forward, but it’s up to you for the immediate future. We won’t get into it today, I just need a few promises from you.”

“OK…”

“Firstly, I’m going to recommend that you stay here one more night. You’ll be checked out tomorrow afternoon and you can spend the weekend at home before going back to school on Monday.”

“Fine, I guess.”

“Secondly, I want you and I to meet once a week. Your dad gave me your lacrosse schedule, and it looks like we both are free Mondays at 4 - is that OK with you?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Thirdly, I want you to agree not to drink or take any drugs other than your adderall for at least three months.”

“I really don’t…” Stiles paused “I don’t drink, this was a...special circumstance, and I’m definitely not cool enough to do drugs, so that’s not something anyone has to worry about.”

“Excellent. One last thing.” Dr. Lee held up a manilla folder “I have something I want you to sign. It’s a contract promising that you won’t hurt yourself for at least one month.”

“What?”

“It may seem silly to you, but it’s important to me that you sign this. It’s an agreement between yourself and me that no matter how hopeless you feel you won’t hurt yourself for at least 31 days.”

“I mean, I’ll sign it, but this isn’t...like...legally binding.”

“I know.” He pulled a ballpoint pen from the pocket of his white lab coat, and put the paper on the tray across Stiles’s lap. Stiles looked at him for a moment, shrugged, and signed the paper.

“Thank you, Stiles. It was nice to meet you. I’m so sorry about the circumstances, and I look forward to seeing you again soon and finding a solution to your problems.”

Dr. Lee left, and Stiles knew he shouldn’t feel as exhausted as he did. He decided it couldn’t hurt to rest his eyes seeing as there was no way he could fall asleep after being passed out for a day. 

The door to his room slammed, and he rolled over, confused. According to the clock on the wall three hours had passed.

“Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up - I knew you were here, but I just didn’t think you’d look so...I mean, I don’t know what I expected, and you look fine, it’s just...that’s a lot of tubes and shit and I guess I didn’t think this through. What happened? Are you ok?”

Scott was wringing his hands together and looked about three shades paler than Stiles was used to seeing him.

“I’m totally fine. This was mostly a misunderstanding, honestly. Everyone is majorly overreacting.”

“What happened though? Did you fall or something? You don’t have a cast, that’s probably good. Did you have to get stitches? I know how much you hate needles, that sucks if you had to get stitches. Mom said you’ve been here a while - did you catch something?”

Stiles’s mind went totally blank. Where hours before there had been a myriad of fake illnesses on the tip of his tongue, faced with the worry of his best friend and his clear and earnest desire to help, Stiles couldn’t bring himself to lie.

“No, I took some bad meds and got sick”

“Shit dude that sounds awful, was it like a fucked up advil problem or a problem with your adderall or...what happened?”

Yes. Yes! The perfect out. He stared at Scott’s face, and opened his mouth to agree. Adderall had always been mysterious enough to be the perfect excuse. And he tried, one more time. And he looked at Scott, and Scott looked at him, and he realized he was tired. Tired of lying, tired of feeling like shit and not telling anyone, tired of pretending to be fine.

“No, I took my mom’s old seizure medication.”

“Wait, on purpose?”

“It’s not a big deal. I’ll be fine.” Old habits die hard.

“But, you took it on purpose.”

“Yeah…”

“To hurt yourself?”

“I swear, your mom and all the doctors say I’m fine.”

“But you wanted to hurt yourself?”

“I was overreacting. It was crazy dramatic and I’m mostly embarrassed about it -”

“Stiles.” Scott’s voice cracked, and Stiles couldn’t take it.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, and I know this is awful. You should have seen the look on my dad’s face, it was horrible. I just...Harris told my dad everything. How I’m a weird spaz who is only getting good grades because teachers feel bad for me because of my mom, and how I’m going to fail his class, and he realized. He realized I’m a huge fuck-up and I’m not worth all this trouble, and I just wanted to be done. It would be so much easier for both of you if I weren’t around, and I’m so fucking exhausted all the time, and I just wanted everything to be over. And I realize I fucked up, and I won’t do it again.”

He felt himself crying, and dug his nails into his palms trying to calm himself down.

“You didn’t fuck up. I mean, you did, and never do this again, but don’t say that. You didn’t fuck up, and you’re not a fuck-up. You’re my best friend.” Stiles heard his voice crack “Harris is a douche, and no one else feels that way about you, and he’s definitely just pissed because you correct him all the time in class, but who cares what he thinks?” Scott looked at him, pleading, and Stiles looked down at his hands in his lap. “I didn’t realize you felt like this.”

“I’m sorry. I should have talked to you about it.”

“No, don’t be sorry. I just...I need you to promise -”

“I swear, I realize what a complete idiot I was being. It won’t happen again.”

“No, not that. I mean it is idiotic to think for one second that my life would be better without you, but no. I need you to promise to tell me if you ever feel this way again. Have you felt like this before?”

“Yeah...I mean, not that often, or anything, but...yeah. Since my mom...well...since before my mom, I guess, but it got worse after my mom, and I guess it’s gotten worse every year since.”

“Shit. I’m so sorry...I had no idea.” Scott was crying, now, and Stiles didn’t know what to say.

“I know. I didn’t tell anyone, it’s not...I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t...you don’t have to apologize, bro, just...I love you and I’m sorry I didn’t know. My mom said you’ve been here awhile, did you talk to a shrink?”

“Yeah, Dr. Lee? He seems fine, overly formal, but fine. I guess I’m seeing him weekly now.”

Scott sank into the chair and rested his hands on the bed.

“Good! He’s cool, I’ve met him a few times. He seems overly serious, but in like, a caring way? I dunno, mom really likes him. I’m sure she made sure you got someone good. Did he say how long you’d be here?”

“Yeah, just until tomorrow - he said they’d let me leave tomorrow afternoon, and then I see him again Monday.”

“Good. Good. I mean, I don’t know what to...it’s good that you’ll see someone, but I want you to be able to…”

“I’m ok. I’m sorry for all this, I’m sorry to scare you, but I promise I’ll be fine.”

Scott lifted his head and stared into Stiles’s eyes, and then deliberately linked their pinkies.

“Will you actually promise?”

They’d developed a secret handshake when they were 11. Jackson had been at his cruelest on the playground, and the only attention they got was mean kids trying to get Jackson’s attention by pushing Scott and Stiles around. They’d decided that they never needed anyone else. They were a secret club with an elite membership, and they needed the secret handshake to prove it. The handshake was 90% lifted from The Parent Trap, and involved a lot of proto-hand-jiving, but every so often they still did it in the hallways when one or the other was having a rough day. Stiles inhaled.

“What am I actually promising?”

“Not - just to tell me. If you feel like this again, just to text so I can come over and help or just hang out or whatever. Just promise to tell me, next time, so I can be around, whatever you do.”

things get betterish

therapy is helpful!

scott is awesome 

stiles is depressed

stiles has a hard time feeling anything, except for the occasional stab of sadness

stiles is looking for something to be excited about again

Scott and Stiles went out to the woods in search of a body in January. 

 

CANON HAPPENS: minus anyone but the bad guys dying! THE BEST KIND OF CANON 

college, careers, summaries of all their lives but fun and entertaining to read and not too long

catch up to stiles moving in, they’re already in love?

both freelance, work together, are gross and adorable

everyone is grossed out by them, erica is lascivious bc fanon 

sheriff and scott love it, are happy, worry as per ujhe 

back to the future, happiness, jobs, etc. those idiots get together, start dating, are happy, Derek thinks it’s just the add medication and has never heard about the depression (Scott knows bc bffs and he found out at the hospital, Lydia knows because she figured it out, Isaac suspects bc he is sensitive to people’s emotional state in the way abused children often are, Erica, Boyd, Derek, Laura, and Cora don’t know) mention that Derek has a key, mention that the walls are semi-soundproof for conversations at least 

 

this is bad. this is not how depression works? have it be less sudden, have the suicidal ideation sneak in, have there be a couple of test mornings or afternoons or evenings (times of day, dummy) in bed, have it be not this drama fest (LOLLLLL) but really have it be more of a lead up than this bc wtf. derek should notice something's wrong but not get it bc better dramatic tension/much more realistic. weekend of acting out before episode? drinking, etc., picture gretchen with the coke and the gun, but, not. OVERLY VIOLENT WITH FAIRIES OR SOMETHING?!?!?! that’s actually a good idea.

Stiles was shopping at the grocery store one day, walked past the antifreeze and thought, out of nowhere “Could I choke down enough of this to kill me?” He startled, and started thinking about the last week. He’d been tired and grumpy, but he chalked it up to being busy with work. He knew what tired and grumpy meant once random suicidal thoughts started, though. He needed to put off work for a few days, stock up on pop tarts and bottles of water, and get ready to be in bed for a few days. 

He was almost at the register, trying to draft a text to Scott in his head that would let him know what was going on without making him worry too much, when he realized. In the past, when he knew he was going to be depressed, he claimed a big project that he needed to work on and Scott covered for him with the pack until he was better. It was usually only four or five days, and no one had ever seemed suspicious. 

Now Derek was his boyfriend, and they saw each other every day. They spent plenty of time together while one or the other was working - it was one of the benefits of freelance schedules and being neighbors. 

He couldn’t tell him. Everything was going so well. They had such an easy life compared to how hard it had been growing up, and Stiles didn’t want to shatter the bubble. Derek was amazing - he was kind, and strong, and looked like an underwear model. Even without his illness Stiles was a spaz - his career wasn’t taking off the way he’d hoped, he was messy, and he had no filter. Derek was already settling for him, and if he figured out that Stiles was broken he’d have the perfect incentive to break it off before it could get any more serious. Derek liked Stiles when he was fun, and funny, and adventurous. If he saw Stiles depressed - angry, and sad, and bored, and lethargic - he’d get out while he still could. 

Stiles went through the self check-out and called Scott as soon as he got to the parking lot. 

“Hey man! How’s it going?”

“Not great, Scotty. I’m not...I’m not feeling too great.”

“Ugh that sucks, is it that cold that’s going around? Laura said Jackson had it last week and she had to physically drag him out of the office.”

“No, no, I’m fine. I mean, I’m not sick. I think I’m gonna need to take a few days off, though, and I need your help.”

“Oh man, I’m sorry, yeah. Of course, whatever you need, where are you right now?”

“Just left the grocery store. I have plenty of food and whatever, I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about Derek.”

“Shit, yeah, have you guys talked about this at all?”

“No. And we’re not going to. It’s going to be business as usual. I’m gonna lie low for a few days, and then I’ll be fine.”

Scott sighed heavily, and Stiles cringed. He started panicking, waiting for Scott to explain that he was sick of Stiles leaning on him, that Stiles should just get his fucking shit together and act like a grown up, that Stiles was annoying and useless and not worth all this effort.

“I’m coming over, I’ll meet you at your place in like half an hour?”

“What?”

“I’m gonna pick up dinner, I don’t trust whatever you got at the grocery store if you feel like shit. Does Thai sound good?”

“You really don’t have to, I swear I’m fine. I just need you to cover for me with -”

“Stiles. Shut up. Get in the car, buckle your seatbelt, and drive home. I’m gonna get you green curry, and I’ll be there ASAP. In fact, fuck that, I’m just gonna order delivery to your place. I’ll see you in like ten minutes.”

“OK. Thank you so much, I know I do this all the time, and I shouldn’t ask you to take care of me, I mean we’re adults, I should be able to get it together and -”

“I’m hanging up so I can call the restaurant. Drive carefully because I love you and if something happened to you I’d lose it. I’ll see you in a few and we’ll figure it out.”

Stiles thought, as he rubbed tears from his face and started the car, about how he really didn’t deserve a best friend as great as Scott McCall. 

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the Camaro wasn’t in the parking lot, and tried to get up to his apartment as quickly as possible to avoid his other incredibly nosy packmates. He made it to his door, and was fumbling with his keys, when he heard a door open behind him. 

“Hey man, Cora refuses to go with me to see Black Widow again because ‘three times in theaters is enough,’ wanna catch the 8 o’clock with me?”

Stiles turned to face Isaac, trying his hardest to look neutral and not like he was about to start crying again in the hallway. 

“Sorry, man, I caught that cold that’s going around, I’m not feeling up to it.”

“Holy shit, Stiles, you look terrible.”

“Thanks buddy.”

“No, I just mean...are you sure it’s just a cold? Are you OK?” 

Stiles heard the elevator ding, and held his breath until he saw that it was Scott. 

“Hey guys, what’s up?”

“Stiles was just saying how he caught that cold. It was probably from Jackson, he was sick for like 5 days.”

“That’s why I’m here! Stiles is a terrible patient, I’m gonna force him to eat something, tuck him in, and then declare a quarantine until he’s fit for human consumption again.”

Stiles tried to force a chuckle, but he could tell how off it sounded, and he started to tear up again. He turned back to the door and hunched over, trying to turn the key and finally get into his apartment where he wouldn’t have to deal with anyone.

“Whoa. Dude are you sure you’re gonna be ok? Should I call Derek?”

Stiles heard Scott start to answer, but he had finally gotten his door open and knew that if he turned around Isaac would notice he was crying (fuck, if he hadn’t already smelled the salt, fuck) so he went inside and left the door cracked open.

“- I’ll definitely text him if Stiles gets worse, but for now it really is better to just leave him alone for a few days. I’ll check up on him and make sure he’s eating, but I’m sure he doesn’t want Derek to see him all snotty and gross, ya know? I’ll catch up with you later, man.”

Stiles had curled up on the couch waiting for Scott, leaving the grocery bags by the door. Scott came in, locked the door behind him, and rushed over. He put his hand on Stiles’s shoulder.

“Sorry man, shitty timing for Isaac to be bored. I told him not to tell Derek, although we’re gonna get to that in a second. Relax for a minute, I’m gonna put away the groceries, and dinner should be here soon.”

Stiles closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of Scott putting things away in various cabinets, and laying out some things on the coffee table. When he opened them again, he saw a bag of oranges, four boxes of pop tarts, and a case of bottled water on the table. 

“Do you want me to put this stuff in your room?”

Stiles nodded and closed his eyes again. He listened to Scott puttering around, wandering to the bathroom and through the kitchen putting things in a plastic bag, opening the door for the delivery guy and chatting, and setting out dishes for their dinner, while he tried to sink as deep into the couch as he could. After a few minutes, Scott came over, pulled Stiles up so he was sitting, and arranged them on the couch so Stiles was leaned against Scott, pulled under his arm, but they were both still able to reach the food on the coffee table to pull it into their laps and eat. Scott let them eat mostly in silence, telling a few stories about his day and talking about how good the food was, but not waiting for Stiles to reply. By the time they were finished Stiles felt a lot more centered. 

Scott rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, grabbed a box of tissues and a bottle of water, and settled them on the couch again before saying anything. 

“Did something happen?”

“No. I’ve been exhausted all week, but I figured it was just work. But then just now I was at the grocery store, and I walked through the cleaning aisle, and all the sudden I couldn’t stop thinking about -” Stiles stopped, choking on the words, and felt himself starting to cry again.

“It’s ok, it’s ok. You only have to tell me what you want to tell me, don’t worry about it. I’m glad you called me. Did you call Marcia?”

“No. I don’t think she could do anything. I’ve been taking my meds, and if I tell her what I thought she’ll think it’s more serious than it is and I don’t want her to overreact. This always happens, and then I get over it, it’s not that big a deal”

“It is a big deal, Stiles. You shouldn’t have to feel like this, it fucking sucks. You don’t have to tell her now, but I think you should next time you see her. Maybe if you switch up your medication? This hasn’t happened since you started with the Wellbutrin, right? It’s been like a year.”

“Yeah, my longest streak since high school I think. I have an appointment in a couple weeks, I’ll tell her then and see what she thinks.” Stiles wasn’t going to tell her. It had been ten years of various therapists trying various medications, and nothing had stopped the episodes. He hadn’t actually tried to hurt himself in a couple of years, and the Wellbutrin had been working for a long time. He was just broken - if a week once a year was all he had to give up, that was less than he deserved. He could deal with it, he was just being overdramatic as usual. 

“OK. If you change your mind I can call her for you, if you don’t want to.”

“Thanks. Thank you for all of this. I really will be fine, nothing a few days of bed rest and self loathing can’t cure.” The laugh this time was less forced, but still didn’t quite sound natural. Scott started scratching at Stiles’ hair, and Stiles curled closer into him.

“I think Derek would want to know what was going on with you.”

Stiles stiffened. That couldn’t happen.

“No. He doesn’t know about this, and there’s no reason for him to. You said it yourself, it’s been a year since last time, and it’ll only be a few days before I’m back to being me. I can’t let him see this, it’s pathetic.”

“Stiles, this is you too. It’s not pathetic, you’re sick. You’d let him help you if you had the flu -”

“This is different, and you know it. You’ve seen me when I’m like this, you know what it’s like. He’d think...he’d know that...I don’t want him to know.”

“I don’t know what you think he’d do, but I guarantee he’d want to be here for you. He’s been into you for years, dude. I think he’s in love with you. This isn’t going to change anything.”

“I can’t. I’ll talk to him about it eventually, I know I’ll have to, but I can’t let him find out like this that his boyfriend is defective.”

“Hey. No. I won’t tell him, we’ll figure out a plan to keep him away, but don’t say shit like that about yourself.”

Stiles phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, saw Derek on the call screen, and looked at Scott, wondering what he was supposed to say to keep his boyfriend away for five days without sounding like he’d lost it. Scott looked at him for a second, sighed sympathetically, and grabbed the phone.

“Hey Derek, it’s -”

“No, he’s fine, he ate dinner and then took some cold medicine and passed out, I’m just cleaning up and making sure he has supplies.”

“Yeah, he caught him in the hallway before he’d taken any medicine, he looked like death. He’ll be fine though. Jackson got over it pretty quickly.”

“No, man, I’ll take care of him. He never wants company when he’s sick, he just wants to sleep it off. I’m gonna stop by once a day to make sure he has tissues and water, but I probably won’t even talk to him. I’m sure he’ll text you, but I think he wants you to avoid him while he’s all snotty and gross. There’s not much you could help with anyway, and I think his dad is coming over most of the day tomorrow.”

“Yeah for sure, I’ll tell him, and I’ll tell him to let you know if he needs anything.”

“You’re welcome, man. What are you up to tonight? I know Isaac wanted to see a movie, and I’m definitely interested. I’ll come up when I’m done here and we can make a plan?”

“Cool, see you in a few.”

Stiles let out the breath he’d been holding and grabbed the phone back from Scott.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. I’ll keep him occupied tonight, and see what I can do over the next few days. I think you should text Lydia, and call your Dad, just to let them know what’s up.”

“I’ll call them both tomorrow. Lydia and I have a Skype date anyway. Right now I just want to get in bed.”

“OK, but I’m coming over tomorrow and I’m holding you to that. I put your computer in the bed, left this week's meds in the drawer, food and water are on the nightstand, make sure you plug in your phone before you fall asleep, ok?”

Scott kissed him on the forehead and stood up, holding his hand out to help Stiles off the couch. 

Stiles looked over at the kitchen and saw plastic grocery bags full of his alcohol, his pill bottles, and what looked like most of his cutlery. 

“Thanks, Scott. I’m sorry.”

“You’re welcome, bro. Literally any time. I’ll text before I come over tomorrow, but it should be around 12:30. Text me if you need anything before then, or want to talk more, or anything. Work is pretty slow, it really is no problem to come hang out if you want the company.”

Stiles nodded, tried to smile, and went to his bedroom. He turned off the overhead light, turned on the lamp on his nightstand that he could reach from the bed, and crawled in. 

“See you soon, man. I love you.” 

Stiles heard Scott leave with the grocery bags and lock the door behind him with his spare key. He started adjusting his sheets and comforter until he was buried up to his chin, plugged in his phone, curled on his side, and started to cry. 

No matter what his therapist said, Stiles was glad for his nest. 

 

The thing that irritated Stiles the most about these episodes (and it was a close race between every goddamn thing about them) was how boring they were. He laid in bed and cried, and laid in bed and spent five hours on Tumblr, and laid in bed and tried to choke down a pop tart, and laid in bed and thought about killing himself, and laid in bed and listened to sad music, and laid in bed and cried some more. 

He Skyped with Lydia, who had known about the depression since high school without Stiles ever actually saying the words. She saw him on the screen, in bed, sallow and unshaven, and her eyes softened for a moment before she launched into a series of stories about how everyone else in her PhD. program was an idiot and she couldn’t wait to leave New England and come home. 

Scott came over twice on the first day, to drop off food and coffee and take out trash and make sure Stiles took his meds. Luckily Scott didn’t expect any conversation, and let Stiles stay in bed without too much of a fuss. 

He texted his dad to let him know he wasn’t doing well, and his dad insisted that Stiles check in every day but otherwise left him alone. 

The second day was exactly the same, with an SVU marathon instead of Tumblr and the added anxiety of a text from Derek. 

Der (11:45): Hey, I heard you were sick. How are you feeling?

(12:01): fine, just a cold. lots of coughing and snot, it’s gross, but i’ll be over it soon.

Der (12:03): Sexy. Do you need anything? I probably won’t catch anything from you, and I’m happy to come over and keep you company.

(12:04): no

(12:06): i’m fine, really. spare yourself. i’ll let you know when i’m feeling like myself again.

Der (12:08): Alright - let me know if you change your mind. It’s too quiet up here without you.

(12:20): i miss you. i’ll talk to you soon.

transitions are a thing readers probably enjoy

One of the nervous habits Stiles had developed was scratching. When he was anxious he’d scratch his arms without really noticing that he’d do it - in high school Jackson made fun of him for it, said the bandages made it look like he was shooting heroin in the bathroom. He was usually able to catch himself these days before he started bleeding.

Scott walked in a few hours after the text exchange with Derek and slammed the bedroom door open. He was fully shifted and looked crazed as he ran at Stiles and grabbed him.

“Stiles! Stiles, what the fuck, what happened, are you ok?” Scott was patting him down frantically, and Stiles had no idea what was happening.

“I’m fine, what?” There was a knock on the door.

“Just a minute! Stiles, I smell blood, are you hurt?” Stiles and Scott realized at the same time what must have happened, and Scott grabbed Stiles’s arm. He hissed at the sting, and realized he must have been scratching for at least a couple of hours.

“Fuck, I didn’t even notice. Shit. I’m sorry. It wasn’t on purpose, I swear to god, I didn’t even notice I was doing it.” The knock at the door got louder.

Scott put Stiles’s arm back down, gently, and turned to answer the door.

“Scott, what the fuck, we could hear the door slam from our place, are you guys ok?” wolf thing??? Stiles was relieved to hear Erica’s voice and not Derek’s.

“Hey. No, yes, we’re fine. Stiles is sick and I was checking on him and he slipped on his way to the shower. I was running to catch him before he could fall and slammed the door.”

“Are you sure you’re ok? You look really pale, and it smells terrible in there. Is that blood?” Stiles felt like the worst person in the world. He was scaring Scott, and wasting his time, and if he kept this up the whole pack was going to figure out what was wrong with him. 

“Definitely, we’re good. He got a nosebleed and was too pathetic to clean up properly. It’s been a couple days, so I’m sure he’ll be better soon. I’m gonna change his sheets while he’s in the shower, so it should smell a little less like death in here.”

“OK. Derek and Isaac said he seems pretty sick, let us know if we can help at all. It’s driving Derek crazy being kept out, he’s been a nightmare the past couple of days.”

“Thanks, I’ll let you know. I’ll tell Stiles to text Derek, I know he doesn’t want to be seen like this but I really think everyone would feel better if Stiles would just let himself be taken care of a little.” Stiles knew that aside was just for him, and gritted his teeth. No one would feel better if Derek saw him like this. It would be over soon, he just had to ride it out. 

“Alright. Feel better, Batman!” Erica yelled into the apartment, and Stiles couldn’t muster up the energy to respond. 

Scott walked back in, looking disappointed. 

“Everyone cares about you. You get that, right? Even if it’s hard to convince yourself right now?”

“I know, Scott. I’m sorry. It’s just hard to feel like...whatever.”

“No, what?”

“It’s hard to feel like I’m worth it. You’re taking care of me and covering for me and basically making sure I function for fucking weeks at a time, and everyone feels so bad for me, but why should you have to? I’m a grown man. I have a degree, and a job, and a boyfriend. I shouldn’t need all this. Nothing is actually wrong. I’m just a fuckup and I’m so lucky you all care anyway but why the fuck should you? All I do is make everything harder than it has to be.”

Scott looked at him for a moment, then walked over and hugged him, picking him up out of bed.

“I’m so sorry your asshole brain is lying to you right now. I promise you won’t feel like this forever. Come on, you should shower - I’ll get some anti-bac and a bandage for your arm, and now that I think about it changing your sheets was probably a good idea.” 

Stiles let Scott hustle him into the shower, wincing before he moved his arm out of the spray, and just standing there for a few minutes in the steam. He had already made it through almost three days, he reasoned, and it shouldn’t last longer than two or three more. He’d convince Scott to bring him a sleeping pill (Scott had taken them when he cleared out the apartment a few days ago) and try to pass out for a while to make the time pass more quickly. He could do this, and then he could get back to feeling like a human being again. 

 

He let Scott bandage up his arm and convinced him to give up two sleeping pills so that Stiles could get some rest, though he wasn’t able to make a successful argument for a razor. He just wanted to shave. He hated the itchy feeling of a new beard, but he understood why Scott was hesitant, especially after he hadn’t even felt the scratching that afternoon. 

What Stiles and Scott both forgot to take into account was that two sleeping pills was the dose Stiles usually took when he was eating normally. Over the past two days he’d had 5 or 6 pop tarts and pretty much nothing else (unpeeling an orange felt like way too much work), so the pills he took at 7:30 knocked him out until past noon the next day. 

He woke up to someone shaking him, and he couldn’t make his arms move the right way to push them off. 

“Scott, get off me, I’m fine. I only took the pills you gave me, I’m fine.”

“What the fuck, Stiles?”

That wasn’t Scott’s voice. Stiles cracked an eye open, and saw Derek’s face. He was staring at the bandage (which, Stiles noticed, needed to be changed - there was blood seeping through), and he looked terrified. 

“Stiles, are you ok? What’s going on?” 

Of course Derek came over. He must have heard how bizarre they were acting from Erica and Isaac, and Stiles had barely talked to him for three days. He’d always thought the fact that Derek having a key to his place was convenient and awesome. He didn’t even think about it being used like this. 

“Stiles! Look at me. Tell me what’s going on right now.” 

Derek looked confused and angry, and Stiles started thinking about how he must look. He was clean, at least, and the sheets had been changed, and he was in bed with food and water nearby. All that could be played off with the original story except...he wasn’t sick. He was sure illness had a smell, plus he had no tissues anywhere around. His computer open next to him still softly playing Elliott Smith on repeat (no one could ever claim he wasn’t a cliche). His face had been puffy from crying for days when he fell asleep, and he assumed it still looked pretty bad. He had a bloody bandage on his arm. Derek grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him up so he was sitting.

“STILES! You’re scaring me, Jesus Christ, say something!”

Stiles started to cry. Derek stared at him and softly moved his hands off of his shoulders, and Stiles sank back down into the bed and rolled on his side to face Derek.

“You weren’t supposed to come. I meant to text you, I’m sorry...you just...you weren’t supposed to come.”

“What are you talking about, Stiles? I thought you had a cold? What happened to you? Did someone hurt you? Why didn’t you tell me? Are you bleeding? When did this happen?”

Stiles heard the door open, and Derek whipped around to look.

“Stiles, text Derek right now and tell him you’re still sick, Boyd just told me that he told Isaac he was worried about how weird we were being and he was gonna come -”

Scott skidded to a stop in Stiles’s bedroom doorway.

“Shit.”

“Scott, what the fuck is going on. Did someone hurt him?”

“Shit.” Scott looked at Stiles, and noticed he was crying. “Shit.” he said more softly. “Hey buddy. My information is apparently not as current as I would have hoped. Did you sleep ok?”

Stiles nodded, and then stared at him. He didn’t know what to do, He knew he would say the wrong thing, and as long as he was making Scott take care of him he might as well foist this off on him too. It’s not like Scott would think he was any more useless than he already must. 

“Scott.” Derek growled the name, and the way Scott straightened up made Stiles think that Derek was using his alpha eyes on him. Stiles curled up more, and accidentally knocked his knees into Derek’s hand where he was resting it on the mattress. Derek startled and looked back at Stiles. He deflated and sat down on the bed, his hand tentatively resting on Stiles’s calf, and looked up at Scott.

“Sorry, Derek. No one hurt him, and he’s going to be ok. He’s sick, and he’ll be better soon, and he’s doing what he has to to take care of himself the best way he knows how, and I am so incredibly proud of him. I hope he’ll tell you everything, because I know you both and I think it’s the right thing to do, but it’s really up to him.”

Stiles started crying harder and Derek stared at him bewildered. Scott came over and knelt by the head of the bed.

“I’m gonna go, if that’s ok.” Stiles nodded. “Did you take your meds?”

Stiles shook his head, and Scott opened the drawer, grabbed a Wellbutrin and counted the rest of the pills, then handed it to Stiles with a bottle of water. He watched Stiles take it, kissed him on the cheek, rested a hand on Derek’s shoulder briefly, and left.

Stiles snuck a peek up at Derek, who was still staring. 

“That wasn’t Adderall.” 

“No. It was Wellbutrin. It’s an antidepressant.”

“Oh.” Derek still looked confused and upset, and Stiles shifted into his own personal crisis mode. 

“I’m really fine. This is all very dramatic, and Scott is babying me. It’s not a big deal, I was only acting so weird this morning because you woke me up from an insanely long night of sleep - I really have to remember not to take two sleeping pills if I haven’t been eating regularly, I was out for like...holy shit, like 18 hours, I’m not gonna sleep again for days. I’m sorry I didn’t text you after yesterday, or tell you about all this, it’s just such a minor thing it seemed easier to just tell everyone I was sick, because I didn’t want you to worry too much, which you’re doing now, I can tell, and you really shouldn’t. I’m fine, I swear to god, I have an appointment with my therapist coming up and I’ll tell her we maybe need to tweak the dose on these meds and she’ll figure it out and then I’ll be back in fighting shape. This is just a thing that happens sometimes, not that often, it’s honestly been like a year since the last one that lasted more than a few hours, and these ones last four or five days and then I’m just like new but a little skinnier and a lot more well-rested than usual. I’m sorry I scared you just now, but I swear, big guy, I’m totally fine.”

Derek stared at him the whole time he was talking. Once he ran out of steam he looked pointedly at Stiles’s arm, then back up at his face.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Haha, fair, that is gross. It wasn’t on purpose or anything, seriously, it’s just a nervous habit I thought I’d grown out of. Sometimes when I get anxious, I scratch at my arms - I’m not trying to hurt myself or anything, I honestly don’t notice I’m doing it. Text Jackson and ask him about it, it was heavily featured in my high school bullying that it makes me look like a junkie.” 

Stiles tried to force a smile, but he could feel that his cheeks were still wet, and Derek winced. He stood up suddenly, and Stiles closed his eyes against his sudden nausea. Well, at least he’d get to say “I told you so” to Scott. He couldn’t blame Derek. Who’d want to stick around for this. Maybe he’d come back once Stiles was back to normal? After a minute or two he felt a hand on his arm, and opened his eyes sharply. Derek was kneeling next to the bed with antibacterial ointment and fresh bandages. He started changing the bandage, staring at Stiles’s arm.

“So, just to...just so I...you’re depressed. You have depression, I mean, and this is a depressive episode.” 

Stiles was surprised at how clinical Derek was being, both with the bandage and the language he was using. 

“Uh...yes.”

“How long?”

“This one, three days. Depression in general, since I was a kid, then it got worse after my mom, then it all...I started getting help when we were sophomores, a few months before we met you. Probably good that I was seeing a therapist and on meds that whole time, to be honest.”

“I thought the smell was Adderall.”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense. I took it all through high school, but when I had to switch antidepressants I stopped - bad interactions.”

“Scott’s known the whole time?”

“Yeah. I...uh...I tried to kill myself that year, sophomore year, in the fall before everything happened, and Melissa let it slip to Scott that I was in the hospital and Scott came to visit and I told him everything. He’s been there for me ever since, he helps me out when I get like this and am too useless to do anything for myself.” Derek scowls up at him, and Stiles can see why. He trusted Scott to help but not Derek. It’s probably an insult to werewolf hierarchy, or something. It’s definitely not great in the context of their relationship. 

“You’re not useless.” Oh. “Who else knows?”

“Lydia. I never told her. She’s too smart for her own good. My dad, obviously. Scott claims he’s never told Allison but I wouldn’t be surprised if he had, taking care of me like this takes up so much of his time and if I were her I’d at least be curious. I’m pretty sure Isaac knows something is up, though we’ve never talked about it.” 

“It was bad enough to put you in the hospital?”

“What?”

“The...the attempt, in high school.”

“Oh, yeah. I, ah, I mean, it was a million years ago...I took a bunch of my mom’s old seizure medication and drank a bunch of whiskey. That’s why Scott won’t let me have my full bottle of pills when I’m like this, even though I’ve done extensive googling and it’d be pretty difficult to actually OD on these.”

Derek stared at him, looking horrified, and Stiles rewinded what he’d been saying.

“Not that I tried! Not that I want to. I’m not...this is why I didn’t want to...I felt it coming on, and I prepared, told Scott and my dad, and got in bed. I’m not gonna hurt myself. This is crazy, this is making it sound like such a huge problem. I really am fine.”

“Would you stop with that?” Derek sounded pissed, and Stiles sat up. “You’re not fine. It’s fine that you’re not fine, but you’re clearly not fine.” 

“Has the word fine lost all meaning for you, too, or just me?”

“When you say you ‘felt it coming on,’ what do you mean?”

“OK, when I tell you this, I want to make it clear it’s not as scary as it sounds. The thought crosses my mind sometimes, but it’s almost never a sign that this is coming, and it’s even more rarely actually dangerous - only a few times in my life has it ever been dangerous, and all those times were years ago. It’s been years since it’s been an actual problem you should worry about, and I totally have it under control, which is why I don’t like to say anything, I definitely didn’t even tell my dad, just because it sounds bad, but it really is fine -”

“Stiles.”

“I had been tired and feeling shitty all week, as I’m sure you noticed. Not that those things alone are an indicator of this, that happens all the time, as you well know.”

“I noticed.”

“Well, I was at the grocery store, and I was...the details aren’t important. I was at the grocery store, and I suddenly out of nowhere started thinking about hurting myself. And I didn’t buy anything dangerous, and I immediately called Scott, and really it’s not nearly as dramatic as it sounds.”

Derek was looking at him, and Stiles noticed how pale he looked.

“Der, I’m ok, I swear. See -” Stiles went to throw his arms out to gesture at himself but remembered the bandage and ended up doing half-jazz hands “fit as an off-brand, gently used fiddle.”

“What dangerous thing...what did you see at the store?” Stiles stared at him.

“Derek, I told you, I don’t want to -”

“Stiles. Please. Just tell me.”

“Antifreeze.”

“What would you-”

“It’s fatal if you drink enough of it.”

Derek’s eyes flashed, just for a second. Stiles wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been staring at him, trying to gauge his reaction, trying to see if that was the crazy straw that broke the camel’s back. Derek took a deep breath, stood up straight, and walked around to the other side of Stiles’s bed. He moved the computer to his desk, closed it, and started unfastening his jeans.

“Derek, what are you doing?”

“We’re going to talk about this later. We’re going to talk about how sorry I am that I didn’t figure out something was going on, and how sorry I am that I made it seem like you couldn’t trust me with this, and how fucking sorry I am that you have the shitty luck to have this disease. But I just...I can’t right now...I just need to…” Derek was in briefs and a t-shirt, and he crawled into the other side of Stiles’s bed. He reached out for him, and then stopped himself. “Shit, I didn’t mean to...I know you didn’t want me here. I can go if you want me to, and I promise I’ll be back whenever you’re ready for me to come back.”

Stiles didn’t understand. He didn’t understand anything that was happening. Maybe he was still knocked out from the sleeping pill, though he’d hope to be more articulate in his own head. He felt himself start to tear up again, and shook his head.

“No. Please. Stay.”

Derek let out a sigh of relief and rolled behind Stiles so he could put his arms around him. He felt Derek press his face against the back of his neck, and started to cry again. 

 

“I’m really sorry. I mean, you shouldn’t feel like you should have to apologize, obviously - you didn’t do anything wrong, and it’s not that I didn’t trust you to know about this, and it definitely wasn’t your responsibility to just figure it out when I never mentioned it and in fact went out of my way to hide it from you.”

After about a minute laying in bed with Derek, Stiles started thinking about what was going to happen next. About the conversations they would have to have about Stiles lying, about how weak and ridiculous he must seem, about how Derek was probably so frustrated that Stiles had forced him into this corner where he had to be overly accommodating and gentle because Stiles was too fragile to be a normal adult. Stiles broke the silence after what couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. 

“Stiles,” Derek sighed.

“Seriously. Plenty of people have depression, this is not something I should have let turn into this huge deal. I should have at least talked to you about it while I was feeling ok, and not left it until it turned into this…”

“Why didn’t you? I wish I had known before -”

Stiles’ phone started to ring. He flinched, certain Derek was about to say “before we started dating,” or “before I let you in the pack,” or “before I had to see you like this.” The phone stopped ringing, then immediately started again. Stiles was still frozen against Derek’s chest, and he felt Derek reach around him to grab the phone.

“It’s your Dad. Do you want me to -”

“No, it’s fine,” he grabbed the phone. “Hey, Pops. What’s shakin’?”

“Sorry, I was in the bathroom.”

“No, I know. You don’t have to worry though, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, Scott’s been over every day. And don’t pretend like I don’t know you talk to Lydia more than I do. And...Derek is actually here now.”

“No, we hadn’t”

“Hah, yup. We’re definitely going to talk about it now.”

“I will, I promise.”

“Sure. This weekend?”

“I’ll be OK, Dad, I promise. Love you too.”

Stiles hung up the call and placed his phone very carefully on the nightstand. He didn’t want to turn around and look at Derek. He didn’t want to continue the conversation they were about to have. He was exhausted, but thanks to the sleeping pills the night before he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep for a long time. All he wanted to do was curl up and close his eyes, and so he did. What was Derek going to do at this point, think less of him?

He felt a hand rest gently on the center of his back.

“We don’t have to talk about this now. We can wait until you feel better, or whenever you want to. But I feel like you’re not understanding me and I don’t want you to have the wrong idea.”

“Not to vary on a theme too much, Der, but honestly, it’s fine. I’m going to be shitty company anyway, you should just go.”

“I will, if you want me to. But if you don’t mind either way, I’d rather stay.”

Stiles thought again, for a moment, that he must be having a bizarre dream. He heard Derek stand up, walk to a corner, and then felt him climb back into bed. He turned his head enough to see out of the corner of his eye that Derek had grabbed a book off of his shelf and was making himself comfortable. He rolled back over and stared at the corner of his nightstand for a while.

“So here’s the thing. The actual thing. The center of it, I mean. The root of the root and the bud of the bud or whatever. I have depression, exacerbated by ADD and an anxiety disorder. I go to therapy twice a month, and I take my meds, and my life is awesome, as you know, because you are one of the most awesome parts of it. But I’ve lived like this for so long that sometimes those thought patterns creep in even when I’m not upset or sad or whatever. Marcia says it’s like a reflex at this point, because my brain was trained to hate itself at a young age, which is cool intellectually but in practice is really fucking annoying. So that goes on, and I try to ignore it, and it mostly works. But then sometimes my brain freaks out, and then this happens. I don’t know why I’m explaining this to you like you’re an idiot, I’m sorry. So this happens, it used to be four or five times a year in high school, and then a little less often in college, and now it’s been over a year. But this happens, and this is the worst. It makes me the worst. I just barricade myself in bed and think about what a fucking piece of shit I am and how much better all of your lives would be if I had never existed. And I know that it would be awful if I died, and I don’t mean that, but if I had a time machine and could hand my dad a condom and George Bailey myself, you know? But, different, and better than that, obviously. And so I lie here and I’m tired and my whole body hurts and I just sit thinking about how useless I am, and it’s even worse because while I’m like this I am totally useless and Scott has to perform even basic human functions for me, and my dad worries, and Lydia pities me, and I lie to everyone else, and I lie to you. And that used to not matter as much but now it matters because I don’t want to be this person with you. I want to be better with you, because Jesus Christ, Derek, if anyone deserves better than this bullshit it’s you. So much has happened, and all you did was get even more brave, and kind, and amazing. And my life has been so lucky and I’m surrounded by so many amazing people and I do this. It’s ridiculous. I hate it. I hate myself when I’m like this. Both because that’s what depression is convincing me of, obviously, but more importantly because I’m not fucking strong enough to see that and get over it. Like, self awareness is only useful if you use it to grow, right? It’s not cute that I know that the only reason I’m acting like a terminal patient right now is because of dumb chemicals in my brain if that knowledge isn’t enough to get my ass out of bed, you know? And I know it was a mistake not to tell you, and I really wish I had, but I just couldn’t imagine you seeing me the same way. I’m not who you thought I was. Or, I am, a lot of the time. But you shouldn’t have to take care of me like some invalid once every six months because I can’t stop crying. No matter how long I push through, this is always going to keep happening. This is how I am. This is who I am. No matter what meds I take, no matter what therapy I go to, no matter how hard I try. I’m broken. I can make it work a lot of the time, but that doesn’t change the foundation. I’m broken, and I always will be, and you deserve better than that. You deserve better than me, and it’s not fair of me to ask you to deal with this shit just because I want this. I can figure out how to live with this, but you shouldn’t have to.”

“I want to.” Derek spoke after a long pause, but his voice was clear and confident.

“What are you talking about?”

“I want to deal with this. I want to be with you, and if that means once a year or once every six months or once a week you spend some time in bed and don’t want to see anyone or do anything, fine. If that means sometimes you hate yourself, fine. What you think of yourself doesn’t change what I think of you. The fact that you have depression doesn’t change how I feel about you. This isn’t some flaw I have to overlook to stay with you, Stiles. This is a part of who you are. I wish it didn’t hurt you, but I’m not with you in spite of who you are. I’m with you because I like who you are. All of it.”

“I...really appreciate you saying that. And I’m not trying to say I don’t believe you, but I want to make it clear that you have an out. If you say this now and then realize you can’t deal with it, it doesn’t make you a bad person. This isn’t what you signed up for…”

“I don’t remember signing up for anything.”

“True! And exactly! There won’t even be any contractual obligations you’re neglecting if you decide that this isn’t something you want anymore.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I just can’t -”

“I mean, I didn’t sit down at the kitchen table, make a list of pros and cons, tabulate your ranking, and decide to date you. I got to know you. I got to know you for ten years, and I thought you were irritating and a genius and frustrating and gorgeous and the most fascinating person I had ever met and eventually I couldn’t stop myself from kissing you. I’m in this. I’m in this for good, and getting to know you better is the least likely thing to drive me away, even if the things I’m getting to know aren’t your favorite parts of yourself.” 

Stiles didn’t know what to say. He was still curled facing away from Derek, and Derek was still sitting up against the wall on the bed behind him. He’d rested a hand on Stiles’s shoulder while Stiles was first talking, but otherwise they hadn’t moved. 

There was a voice in his head telling him all the reasons that the wonderful things Derek was saying were bullshit. He was a nice person and of course he would try to make Stiles feel better when he was so obviously in distress, even if he didn’t mean it. He felt guilty about not figuring out what was wrong and was trying to make himself feel better by being fucking perfect. He really felt that way now because he didn’t understand what Stiles was telling him - that was it. That was the one. That made the most sense - that he was seeing the opportunity to be the hero, and not understanding the tedious, empty reality of Stiles’s situation. He was imagining the movie version of depression with a pretty, wan heroin who found her way to happiness with the power of love. He’d stick around, and be great, and then once he realized this wasn’t a monster to be slain and put away he’d get tired of it and leave. Derek started rubbing his back. 

“If you want to talk about this now, of course we can. But I’d rather talk about it more when you’re feeling better - I’m guessing that if you feel awful then you’re overthinking all of this and not understanding how simple this is. I’m here for you, whatever happens.”

“It’s that easy.” Stiles didn’t mean to sound so sarcastic. God only knows, he should be trying to be as easy to be around as he could while he was like this, but of course because he was a fuckup who insisted on self sabotaging everything good in his life as soon as humanly possible he had to respond to genuine kindness with snarkiness because he was garbage, and -

“Yeah.”

Well. OK then. He wasn’t sure what to do next. Derek was still rubbing his back, and it felt amazing, and all he really wanted was to stay there with Derek there as long as he could. 

FALLS ASLEEP 

wakes up alone in bed, sees a peeled orange on a plate on the nightstand, derek is in the kitchen cooking and being perfect as is his wont

explain why derek knows about depression and is perfect about it - human family member? werewolf family member? therapy in NYC with laura? that seems likely for sure, but also - peters wife was a therapist? childhood comfort with mental health as health 

talk about depression

talk about suicide

talk about how derek has had suicidal thoughts bc obviously he has bc duh 

talk about how therapy is amazing! 

talk about how it would be healthier to tell his friends and rely on them

talk about how derek isn’t curing anything 

CALL MARCIA?! 

OMG PACK MOVIE NIGHT WITH CUDDLING AND NOT TALKING AND COMFORT?!?!

SPOONING WITH DEREK AND HOLDING HANDS WITH SCOTT?!?! 

CUTE SCENE WITH ISAAC BEING ALL KNOWING 

I AM HEALTHY I AM WHOLE I HAVE POOR IMPULSE CONTROL 

fic ends with love and hope bc optimism is kyoot 

we show great loyalty to the hard times we’ve been through


End file.
